


if the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall

by MelikaElena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Basically where everyone is alive and happy, F/M, M/M, The Ark AU, except Octavia whoops, sorry Octavia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They became friends by accident, because there’s no way that Miller would’ve befriended Wells Jaha on purpose. ARK AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	if the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall

 

“Nope,” is all Miller says when he drops down into the seat across from Wells, his book bag dropping to the floor with a THUMP that makes Wells wince.

“I didn’t _say_ anything,” Wells remarks, slightly offended.

“You didn’t have to,” Miller grunts. “It’s written all over your face. No chess today. The victory would be too easy.”

Wells scowls. Miller can’t tell what annoys him more-- the fact that he’s so easy to read or the fact that he already assembled the chessboard in his usual painstaking way so that all of the pieces were perfectly centered in their squares.

Wells doesn’t say anything-- his usual tactic with Miller, and eventually the other boy caves, heaving out a big sigh. For someone who isn’t a talker himself, Miller prefers it when other people speak. The guy is a (near) complete mystery to Wells, and the two have been good friends for about a year now. “Okay, what is it? Thelonious being his usual looney tunes self? Griffin not speaking to you again? I _told_ you guys you can’t watch soccer just the two of you. You need human buffers.”

“No, it’s neither of those things,” Wells glares at him.

Miller raises his eyebrow. “Is it… girl problems?”

Wells sighs.

“Oh, god,” Miller groans. “ _Straight people_.”

"As if you haven’t been mooning over someone for the last six months,” Wells snaps, “and you know that I’m not entirely straight. Just mostly.”

“That’s true,” Miller concedes, “I _did_ catch you checking out Bellamy Blake the other day. He does have great arms. Want an introduction? We’re in the guards program together.”

“Nah,” Wells waves this away. “I think Clarke has a thing for him. He’s on duty at the clinic a lot and whenever I come see her they’re always arguing.”

Miller squints at him for a moment, wondering if he’s serious, before shaking his head again. “ _Straight people_ ,” he says again.

"Clarke is bi," Wells reminds him.

"True," concedes Miller. "They're still weird, though. But don't change the subject; who is it, then?”

Wells shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says.

“You don’t know,” Miller says slowly. “Ok, so what you’re telling me is this girl is definitely not from Alpha Station. She’s… what? Factory? Farm? Mecha?”

Wells clenches his jaw. “Mecha,” he says finally. “I think.”

“Okay…” Miller’s confused now. “I don’t understand. Why are you so on edge about this? Why don’t you just hack into ol’ Thelonious’s database and find out who she is?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wells says, toying with one of the knights. “She has a boyfriend.”

“Ahhh,” Miller says. “Hence the long face. You just found out today.”

“Yeah,” Wells says. “It’s fine. I’ll get over it.”

Miller, despite his better judgment, is curious now. He hasn’t seen Wells this down since he and Clarke decided that they should just be friends several months earlier. Whoever this girl is, Wells clearly likes her a lot. He wants to know more, wants to find out more, but one look at Wells’ hunched shoulders (and Wells is one for impeccable posture,) and Miller decides to drop it. After all, he can understand-- he’s been pining after this guy from Farm Station for a while and although it would be so easy to find out who he is, he’s seen him with the same guy since day one.

So. Pining from afar it is.

“Right,” Miller says, standing up. “I know what to do in this situation.”

Wells looks up distrustfully. “What?”

“I’m sure there’s an episode of the _Great British Bake-Off_ that needs watching,” he lets out a long-suffering sigh at the thought of watching his best friend’s favorite show, as though he’s doing him some huge favor (it’s his favorite, too. Don’t tell anyone.)

Wells brightens, and Miller claps him on the shoulder as they leave.

* * *

They became friends by accident, because there’s no way that Miller would’ve befriended Wells Jaha on _purpose_.

The thing about people like Wells Jaha is that not only do they have privilege, they have too _much_ privilege. Like an exorbitant amount. Like so much of it that it basically caused him to be something of a social leper. The only one brave enough (or stupid enough) to befriend him was Clarke Griffin, who has just as much privilege and power as Wells himself. Kids were so afraid and disdainful of the Jaha and Griffin families that the idea of even trying to befriend them in order to suck up or for special favors was off-putting.

So, for sixteen years it was just Clarke and Wells, Wells and Clarke. Miller knew he himself had a great deal of privilege, living in Alpha Station with a father who was the Head Guard and a mother who had, for a couple terms, been on the Council. But Miller was uncomfortable with the prestige and tended to lay low, hanging out with the kids in the other stations, trying to keep his head down basically. He wouldn’t call himself a people person but he _definitely_ didn’t want people to think of him like Clarke and Wells.

But, as these things tend to happen, he and Wells were paired up for a semester-long project in History, and he was forced to attend Wells’ weekly, scheduled “partner meetings” in the library to ensure that they were on-track with their project. It annoyed Miller at first-- he had places to _be_ and things to _do_ , and no, Jaha, I’m not going to fucking tell you what they are-- not to mention that it made him antsy being in the library with Wells. What if people started to think that they were-- god forbid-- _friends_ ? Miller had the occasional nightmare that he too was a social leper, with nothing and no one but the Prince and Princess of the Ark for friends. He could only imagine what sort of goody-two-shoes schemes they would force him to partake in-- Miller knew that Clarke Griffin volunteered to be the physician of all the locked up kids, a job that nobody wanted, and that Wells would help out in the kitchens on a regular basis, for _fun_.  What would they make him do? Read to kids in the library? Help the janitors pick up trash? (Something that, okay, on occasion he did, anyway, but no one needed to know that.)

But gradually, Wells’ rigorous organization skills and no-nonsense delegation style gave way to tentative jokes, hesitant smiles, and occasionally, getting off-topic by trying to explain soccer and chess to Miller.

And Miller had to admit, finally, about three months in-- Wells Jaha was all right. He had none of his father’s pretensions, although he was naive and occasionally self-righteous, but his earnestness, sincerity, and kindness more than made up for it. He was funny, too, and made such sharp, insightful, unexpected comments about the arbitrariness of some of the Arks laws and policies (despite the fact that most of them came from his own father)-- comments that Miller himself had made-- that it was difficult not to like him, or respect him.

Soon they were saying hi in the hallways and Miller found himself seeing Wells outside of class or their project stuff. He was even invited to watch soccer with Wells and Clarke. Part of him-- that self-preservation part-- wanted to say no, but Wells looked so hopeful, so hesitant, like he could already tell that Miller might say no and he would understand why, that he found himself saying yes instead.

Clarke Griffin was nothing like he expected either. They were in the same year growing up, had been in all the same classes, but they’d never really spoken. She was the one who answered the door when he came to the Jaha’s apartment to watch soccer and she eyed him warily, nothing like the Sunshine Princess he had seen in class or around the halls.

“Wells is in the bathroom,” she said flatly before he could open his mouth. “Which is great, because this means I get to interrogate you.”

Miller blinked. He didn't know what he had expected from Clarke Griffin but it certainly wasn't _this._ “Excuse me?”

“Wells isn’t good at making friends,” Clarke began to say, and then stopped. “Actually, it’s other people who aren’t good at making friends with _Wells_. People are idiots, and I don’t have time for idiots in my life, and neither does Wells. So I’m telling you right now: if you don’t think you can handle being friends with us, and are at all concerned with your reputation, I suggest you leave right now, before Wells comes out. It’s better than getting his hopes up more than they already are only for you to decide after everyone is making fun of you and ostracizing you for being friends with ‘Little Chancellor’ Jaha that you want out. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and I’m trying to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again. So either you’re in or you’re out, and you need to decide that right now, Nathan Miller.”

Her hair was falling out of her braid and her cheeks were flushed, but her blue eyes were cool and her voice even colder. Miller was equal parts scared and impressed, understanding in an instant a key component of Wells and Clarke’s personalities: Clarke could play the social game but chose not to, and Wells simply wasn’t savvy enough to know how; it made Miller like them both-- it made up his mind, really.

“I’m in,” he said firmly, and held Clarke’s gaze as she scrutinized him.

Then, it was like those videos he had seen in Earth Studies, where the sun broke through the clouds after a long storm. Her expression cleared and a wide smile stretched across her face. “Great!” She said cheerily, throwing open the door. “Come on in!”

That’s not to say it was smooth sailing from there-- some of his friends, Murphy, Roma, Dax, Atom-- gave him a lot of crap for hanging around Clarke and Wells, but it just made him see what kind of assholes he was hanging around with to begin with, and he soon found himself with a new social circle, and that was fine with him: He was happy and he didn’t give a shit about what people thought.

 

* * *

Wells is in a meeting with his father (a weekly “Jaha Father-Son” bonding meeting, apparently-- what the _fuck_ was with those Jaha’s and their scheduled weekly meetings, anyway?) so it’s just Clarke who Miller eats dinner with later that night.

“So on a scale of one through seven,” she says without preamble, putting her tray down across from Miller’s, “how depressed was Wells today?”

“Fourteen,” Miller says, without looking up. “And what is with your scale? Why can’t you just do one through ten like a normal person?”

“Griffin, normal?” Comes a scoff from above them. Both Miller and Clarke look up and it’s Bellamy Blake. His hair, normally combed back with an amount of gel that makes Miller wince, is wavy and tousled for once. It takes both Clarke and Miller a minute to respond. “That’ll be the day.”

When Clarke doesn’t automatically snap back, Bellamy frowns and looks a little unnerved by their matching stares. “What?” he says.

“Uhhh nothing, man,” Miller says, shooting Clarke a look. “You just look different.”

“The hair,” Clarke says, and her voice is a smidgen lower than normal, and Miller nearly starts at the sight of the normally unflappable Clarke Griffin losing her cool. “It’s your hair.”

“Oh,” Bellamy puts his tray down at their table and runs his hands through his hair self-consciously. “I woke up late today and just went to training with it wet.” He grimaced. “My mom’s been telling me I need to get it cut, and without gel it just--”

“Looks better,” Miller says, not caring if he sounds like a dick (or turned-on). “It looks good like that. Gel made you look too stuffy.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and then turns to Clarke. “You agree, Princess?”

She scowls at the nickname, but admits, “Yeah, I agree.”

Despite saying it like she was getting her teeth pulled, Bellamy grins at her, and picks up his tray, “Good to know. See you later, Princess, Miller.” And he strolls away, whistling, Clarke glaring at his back.

“Let me guess,” Miller deadpans, “you hate to see him leave, but you love to watch him go.”

Clarke’s gaze snaps back to Miller and she nearly growls at him. “Don’t make me end you,” she waves her spoon threateningly at him.

“I’d like to see you try,” Miller says, before, very graciously in his opinion, changing the subject. “Anyway, what’s this about Wells?”

Clarke stabs at her food, an indication that she’s still a bit peeved about Bellamy. “He’s been acting weird today. Sad. You have any idea?”

Miller thinks about it for a minute. He only just found out about Wells’ crush this afternoon; would Wells want Clarke to know, or has he just not had the time to tell her? In the end, he decides to play it safe. “Yeah,” he says, “I do. It’s not-- he’ll be fine. I just learned about it, so I don’t know if he wants to tell you himself or not.”

Clarke nods, and Miller knows her well enough now to know that she appreciates his discretion. Clarke is a concerned friend, not a nosy one, another thing Miller appreciates about her in turn. “Sounds good,” Clarke says, “but if it’s about his crush, then I already know about it. I mean, he hasn’t told me, but I can tell.”

Miller’s not surprised; Clarke knows Wells better than he does, after all. It’s a bit of a relief to confirm it for her. “Yeah,” he says. “She has a boyfriend.”

Clarke spears a piece of slightly wilted lettuce viciously and Miller nearly winces. “Ugh,” she says. Then she focuses on him. “What about your crush? Boyfriend, too?”

Miller scowls. Okay, maybe Clarke _is_ just that observant. “Yeah,” he bites out. “Not that that’s your business.”

She shrugs. “No, it’s not,” she says, “but we’re friends. I’m just curious. Besides, you know about Bellamy.”

Miller rolls his eyes. “Clarke, everyone with _eyes_ knows about Bellamy,” he tells her.

“Fair enough,” Clarke says cheerfully, unperturbed. Apparently the only person who can really rile her up is Bellamy. “But seriously, you and Wells shouldn’t worry about these things. People break up all the time. Until then, just chill out, do your own thing. Hang out with me; I’m awesome.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Miller grumbles, but he doesn’t protest. He _does_ like hanging out with Clarke.

* * *

When he’s not hanging out with the Prince and Princess of the Ark, he spends his time with, well, the complete opposite. Maybe not completely, but Bellamy Blake and Raven Reyes live completely different lives than Wells and Clarke.

“So how are our favorite royals?” Raven asks sardonically, her hands stained with oil as she tinkers with something, her long fingers always moving.

“Fine,” Miller says, because he knows that Raven’s bark is worse than her bite, and she doesn’t have anything really against Clarke and Wells-- not more than anyone else does, really. And he says, before he can think about it, “You should come hang out with us sometime.”

Raven stops and raises an eyebrow at him. “Really,” she says flatly.

Miller shrugs, trying to play it cooler than he feels. He doesn’t blame Raven for her reaction; he would’ve had the same one if their positions were reversed. “They’re cool.”

“Right,” Raven snorts, “so let’s say we’re all in the cafeteria and I come sauntering up in my beat up red jacket and oil on my face. What are they gonna say to that?”

“Wells won’t say a word,” Miller says, “Clarke will be nice and interrogate you later about your intentions.”

Raven scoffs. “My intentions?” She mocks.

“If Wells Jaha is the Underworld, then Clarke is Cerberus,” Bellamy says, flipping through a book. Miller notices that he hasn't used hair products at all since that day in the cafeteria. “She protects him.”

“Okay, thanks, Nerd,” Raven snorts, but she eyes Miller. “You really like them, huh?”

Miller shrugs. He’s not going to say it again.

“As much as Miller can like people,” Bellamy supplies helpfully.

“And what do _you_ think, Blake?” Raven asks, genuinely looking for his opinion. Bellamy is as distrustful of other people as Raven is, and for good reason. Life in Factory and Mecha stations are rough.

“The Princess is a little hoity-toity,” Bellamy says, and Miller thinks it’s all downhill from there, until-- “but she also does what she can to help people out at the clinic, when her mom isn’t around-- sometimes, you know, more than she should, especially if they’re kids.” He clears his throat. “And Jaha’s, you know, an actual decent person. He's not like his dad.” From Bellamy, that's a ringing endorsement

“Well,” Raven says after a long moment. “Maybe if I see you all, I won’t walk the other way or anything.”

Miller doesn’t think much of the conversation later, and it’s not until Wells is choking on his dinner the next week and Miller looks behind him and sees Raven, tray in hand, gazing down at them with a hint of her usual scowl (and oil smudges) on her face that he remembers.

“Oh, hey,” he says, scooting down, like they do this every day and Raven drops down beside him, although he notices she places her tray down on the table lightly, hesitantly. They both politely ignore Wells, who’s now chugging water like a man in a (hypothetical) desert.

When Wells has sufficiently recovered, Miller introduces Raven. “Raven, this is Wells. Wells, Raven.”

Wells sticks out his hand dutifully, and Raven shakes it firmly, eyeing him distrustfully. “You can call me Reyes,” she tells him, and Wells nods automatically, almost robotically, none of his usual earnest charm to be seen.

“Where’s Finn?” Miller asks, keeping one eye on Wells.

Raven shrugs. “Doing something for school, I think. I don’t know.”

Miller raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know?” He asks. Raven and Finn are like Clarke and Wells, in a way-- attached at the hip, with an almost preternatural sense of where the other person is.

Raven shrugs again, clearly done talking about it. She looks over at Wells. “And where’s your better half?” She asks.

“Uh, Clarke and I aren’t like that,” Wells stutters. He clears his throat and continues, “she’s finishing up late today-- she goes to see the locked up kids on Thursday's. Bellamy does the rounds with her, so they’ll both probably come straight here together.”

Raven smirks as she cuts into her food. “I’m sure Blake’ll like that,” she says. “He is so gone for her, it’s tragic.”

“What’s so tragic about it?” Wells asks, not used to Raven-isms.

Raven puts down her cutlery and rolls her eyes at him. “Come _on_ ,” she says, “the Princess of the Ark with a lowly guard from Factory Station? I thought you were smarter than that, Jaha.”

“Clarke doesn’t care about any of that stuff,” Wells shoots back, more fierce than Miller has ever seen him.

“Maybe not,” Raven says, “but you really think her parents don’t?”

Wells shakes his head vehemently, but Miller finds himself agreeing with Raven to a certain extent. Jake Griffin is friendly and from Mecha Station himself, but Abby, though nice enough, is colder and more political than her husband. She would certainly have something to say about it.

“Even if that were true,” Wells concedes, and he gives Raven a small, sharp smile that Miller’s never seen, “then you don’t know Clarke. She’s _stubborn_.” 

Raven stares at him for a moment before her own lips quirk. “Just like Bellamy. Those two knuckleheads are perfect for each other, aren’t they? Although with them it’s probably more opposites attract and all that.”

Wells shrugs, back to his affable self. “Maybe,” he says. “I think that the ideal relationship is comprised of partners who complement each other, rather than oppose each other, or even are exactly alike. Clarke and Bellamy may come from different backgrounds, but they’re similar enough with what matters, and balance each other out with everything else.”

Raven doesn’t say anything else, but Miller knows that she’s impressed despite herself.

Like a good friend, he waits until later, when it’s just the two of them, to say casually, “So Raven’s the girl you’re in love with, then?”

(Perhaps, like a bad friend, he waits until Wells is drinking water to ask.)

After he’s done sputtering and wheezing, the only answer Miller needs, Wells glares at him. “No.”

“You’re the worst liar on the Ark,” Miller says.

“Why ask if you already know?” Wells says darkly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “That’s why she was sitting with us tonight, right?”

Miller is surprised and a little offended. “ _No_!” He protests. “I didn’t know it was her _until_ she sat with us. Raven’s my friend, too, you know.”

“You’ve never talked about her,” Wells accuses.

“I hardly talk at _all_ ,” Miller protests.

Wells is silent. “I guess that’s true,” he says, guiltily. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Miller dismisses. “Listen, if it makes you feel better, I think she and her boyfriend are on the rocks.”

Wells shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “She looks unhappy.”

Miller groans. “Oh, god,” he says, “you _do_ have it bad, don’t you? But think about it this way: if being with Finn makes her _un_ happy, then you should just hope they break up so she can be happy again.”

“I guess,” Wells says. “But they’re… they’ve been together a long time. It’s not like I’d even have a chance once they’re broken up. She doesn’t even _like_ me.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Miller’s not good with sad, puppy dog Wells. That’s more of Clarke’s area of expertise. Well, Miller’s not that great with talking about feelings in general. Or, you know, talking.

“Then don’t worry about it,” he says slowly, knowing just what to say. “Just… chill out. Get to know her without any pressure. Hang out with Clarke and me; we’re awesome.” 

Wells eyes Miller suspiciously, like he knows that those words aren’t just coming from Miller himself. “Okay,” he says slowly. “But you know this means I’m just going to try even harder to figure out who _you_ like, right?”

“Go for it,” Miller leans back, crossing his arms. “I’m an open book,” he mocks.

* * *

“Hey,” Wells says from behind him, and Miller turns, in his guard in training uniform. “I have a meeting with my Earth Skills partner tonight-- do you mind if he comes to our study session?”

“I won’t be in the way?” Miller’s a good student, but he definitely benefits from having Wells as a friend in that he’s a good study partner, efficient and organized, and he believes in short, regular breaks (with snacks.)

“I’m more concerned about you,” Wells grins, bright and teasing. “I know you don’t adjust to new people well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Miller rolls his eyes. “I adjusted to _you_  didn’t I?”

“It only took you three months,” Wells retorts. “But seriously; the meeting won’t take long, but he said he might hang out and study after.”

Miller internally rolls his eyes. Great, another puppy dog overachiever like Wells into the group. But all he says is, “Sounds good.”

It really does seem good, until Miller gets to the library later that night and _drops the books in his arms_ , which only makes the loudest sound _eve_ r, at the sight of Wells studying with none other than Miller’s crush.

They both look up, and Miller can _feel_ the look Wells is giving him as he bends down and scoops up the books.

“You okay?” Wells asks him when Miller finally reaches their table.

“It’s been a long day,” Miller says. “Guard training and all.”

Wells nods, but Miller knows he isn’t convinced. “Um, Miller, this is Monty Green. Monty, Miller.”

Miller tries to keep his face stoic as he reaches over and grips Monty’s hand, pleasantly surprised at the strong grip from the otherwise slight hands. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“Same,” Monty says, and his lips quirk up as he asks, “Just Miller, then?”

“What?” Miller blinks, caught off-guard. And he was doing so well, too. “Uh, no. My first, uh, my first name is Nathan. My dad calls me Nate.”

He can’t look at Wells because he knows that the jig is up; Miller’s never said so many words to someone he’s just met in his _life_. When Wells asked if it was “Just Miller” a year ago, he had grunted and said, “Yup.”

He is _fucked._

“Nate,” Monty smiles, and Miller can’t look away, not when he smiles like _that_ and says his name like _that_. “I like it.”

“Yup,” is all he can manage to say, sitting down and resolutely _not_ looking at Wells.

They study together for two hours before Monty finally gets up to leave. “Jasper wants to play video games before curfew,” he says.

“Cool,” Wells says, shooting a look at Miller, “tell him we say hi.”

“Will do,” Monty says. “I might have to join you guys again, if you don’t mind. Definitely get a lot more done with you two than I do when I study with Jasper.” He looks over at Miller and gives him a small, shy smile. “Nice to meet you, Nate.”

Miller clears his throat before speaking, having learned his lesson. “You, too, Monty.”

He and Wells sit in silence until Monty leaves the library entirely and then Miller braces himself and meets Well’s eyes. They’re crinkled in amusement, his mouth smirking. Bastard.

“So,” he says thoughtfully, “Monty Green, huh?”

“I didn’t know his name before,” Miller grumbles.

“Now you do,” Wells says in his usual straightforward manner. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” glares Miller.

Wells blinks. “ _Nothing_?” He says. “Why?”

“Because of his boyfriend!”

“Who?” Wells says. “ _Jasper_ ? Dude, I’m _pretty_ sure Jasper is straight.”

“How do you know?” Miller says.

“Jasper has the biggest crush on Harper,” Wells says. “Trust me. At the very least, he’s not into Monty like that.”

“Idiot,” Miller grunts under his breath, although clearly not quietly enough, because Wells’ smile widens.

“You’ve got it bad,” Wells says, delighted. “Miller’s in--!”

Miller slaps his hand over Wells’ mouth. “Watch it, or I’ll end you,” he snarls.

Wells calmly removes Miller’s hand. “You’ve been spending too much time with Clarke,” is all he says. “What’s the big deal?”

Miller winces. He doesn’t like to talk about feelings. He _hates_ it. But he supposes that if he has to talk about them to _anybody_ , it’s Wells. “My last relationship didn’t go so well,” he says. “I’ve been kind of steering clear of that stuff ever since.”

“With Bryan?” Wells asks knowingly, kindly.

Miller blinks. “How’d you--?”

Wells shrugs. “Heard him talking about it with Sterling once,” he says.

“You mean his _new_ boyfriend,” sneers Miller.

Wells' face falls. “Oh, is that what that was?” He says. “I didn’t get a lot, honestly. Just that he regretted how things ended between you two.”

“He _should_ ,” Miller says, but he feels a little vindicated. “Anyway, I don’t know if I want to try again.”

Well’s lips twist. “That sucks,” he says. “It’s your prerogative, but I think if you don’t it’d be a shame. Monty would be the perfect person to try again with.”

Despite himself, Miller can’t help but be interested. “Yeah?” He asks. Wells is good at reading people, even if he's a bit too trusting of them.

“Yeah,” Wells says, smiling, and Miller is suddenly so damn _grateful_ that he decided, all those months ago, to be Wells’ friend. “You would complement each other.”

* * *

Wells turns seventeen two months later and Clarke throws him a party. In typical fashion, he comes home just a smidgen too early and nearly ruins everything, but somehow that makes it all the more perfect because he can see all of the hard work being put into it. Despite the fact that no one jumped out behind furniture and yelled, "Surprise!" Wells is still shocked as anything when he comes through the door to his apartment and sees who’s there waiting for him. In past years for his birthday, it would just be him and Clarke, with their parents, and for so many years that was enough, quality over quantity, as his father always said, but there’s something to be said, too, for being lucky enough to have both. 

Clarke, perched on an armrest of an armchair that Bellamy is sitting on, one arm wrapped loosely around her waist, is trying to wrestle the other boy into wearing a party hat. Jasper and Harper are on the floor, fiddling with the projector, trying to get a soccer video up. Monty and Raven are putting the finishing touches on what looks like to be a complex birthday present, whispering furtively. And Miller is lighting the last candle on a small cake, worth weeks of carefully saved extra rations. He’s the first one to see Wells and he comes over, holding the cake. “What do you think?” is all he says.

Wells grins and examines the cake from all over. “I’ll have to taste it,” he says, “but it looks like a _good bake_ to me.”

Miller rolls his eyes, but all he says is, “Happy Birthday.”

Wells is clearly overflowing with joy, and it’s almost more than Miller can handle, quite frankly, in terms of emotions. Wells deserves all the friends in the world, Miller thinks, and he’s happy that he’s finally got them. He’s watching everyone watch the soccer game as Wells tries to explain the rules to them just like he did for Miller, all those months ago, when Clarke comes and sits next to him, having extricated herself from Bellamy.

To his shock, Clarke does something she’s never done before: she leans her head on Miller’s shoulder.  “Thank you,” she says quietly.

He startles. “For what?”

Clarke lifts her head and looks at him in her usual solemn way. “You started all of this,” she says. “By being Wells’ friend. You… people look at us differently now. Like maybe we’re not such awful monsters. That’s how Bellamy and I became friends, and I know you’re the one who convinced Raven to give us a chance. It showed other people, like Jasper and Monty and Harper and everyone else, that we were worth giving chances to.”

Miller fidgets, uncomfortable with what she’s insinuating. He'd always thought that Clarke could get so many friends if she wanted, but maybe she was too afraid to try, too. 

“You’re a good guy, Miller,” Clarke says. “Thanks for making Wells happy.” She looks across to Monty. “You deserve to be happy, too.”

He’s not ready to talk about Monty with Clarke just yet, so all he says is, “Yeah, maybe.”

She doesn’t say anything else, putting her head back on his shoulder, but Miller can hear her words, anyway, so he does what he knows she wants (the Princess always gets what she wants eventually, after all…) He makes his body relax until his brain believes it, resting his head on top of Clarke's as they observe the party, and he spends the rest of the evening hanging out with all of the awesome, wonderful people in his life.  


End file.
